


Can't Get You Out Of My Head

by im_an_octopus



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Winter Soldier (Comics), infinity war - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), does hurt relate to like physical hurt or emotional hurt i never knew the difference, oh well it's emotional here lmao
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-18
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-09-21 15:03:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17045894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/im_an_octopus/pseuds/im_an_octopus
Summary: You're doing your best to help Bucky adjust to life in the Avengers Compound, but one hundred years of brain washing makes that much easier said than done.





	Can't Get You Out Of My Head

“Are you ready?”

Bucky nodded and shifted around uncomfortably on his bed.

“I really don’t think this is a good idea.”

“We’ll take it slower than we did last time. We’ll do all the words in English, then the first three in Russian, okay?”

Sitting on the folding chair across from him, you crossed your legs and gave him your warmest smile. It wouldn’t do much to comfort him, but it couldn’t hurt, either. The corner of his mouth twitched a bit, as if it wanted to raise itself up but decided against it at the last minute.

You pulled out your phone and scrolled through to your notes where you kept the list of words. Bucky had specifically asked for this. He didn’t want you to read them from a journal or notebook. It only made the triggers stronger.

“Longing…rusted…seventeen… daybreak…” Between each word you counted to three and glanced up at him. He was fine, for the most part, save for the way his breathing picked up ever so slightly. His eyes were closed in deep concentration as he muttered each word during your pauses. The English portion didn’t have much effect. He was, after all, trained to answer to Russian. You just saw it more as a warm up, of sorts.

You continued.

“Furnace… nine…benign… homecoming…one…freight car.”

Bucky cringed at the last one. He always did. You weren’t totally sure on why, though you suspected it had to do with its double meaning. He was surely imagining the freight car he fell from that day. The one that led him to Hydra. Or perhaps what was getting him was that it was the final word. The word that in the past had always been the one to finish the set, thus completing the hijacking of his mind.

“You good?”

“Yeah,” he replied, eyes still closed. “I think I can handle four today.”

“You barely got through three yesterday.”

“I can handle four.”

Over the last month or so, you’d come to know Bucky better than anyone, save for Steve. It didn’t take long for you to learn that he was a classic case of a teddy bear covered by a rough exterior. With each session he grew less and less intimidating—though, there was a difference between intimidation and fear, and while the former disappeared, the latter grew.

You had fallen in love with James Buchanan Barnes. And it scared the shit out of you.

“I only know how to pronounce three.” It was partially true. Russian was hard, and you’d gone to Natasha for help. She was glad to assist, though her condition was that you could only learn a few at a time.

_He can recover_ , she’d said, _but I know Barnes and I know what this is like. He’ll try to push his limits too fast. I’m not going to give him the option to do that._

It made sense, though when you pressed for more information, she brushed off your questions, and told you sternly that it was time to focus.

“After all this time, you’ve only learned three?”

“I’m working on the fourth one. Not quite there yet.”

“Fine.”

“Fine,” you cleared your throat and looked up at him. “желание…ржaвый…” so far so good. His demeanor had noticeably changed, but it seemed to be more from nerves than the words. “Семнадцать.”

“And the fourth one. Just try it.”

You sighed as you ran through the situation in your head. He’d shown no signs of relapse, and chances are you’d butcher the pronunciation of the next word, anyways.

“Рассвет.”

Apparently your pronunciation was perfect.

Bucky broke out in a cold sweat and his breathing noticeably picked up. His pupils dilated and shrunk rapidly as the chemicals in his brain regressed backwards, making way for The Winter Soldier to reclaim his mind.

“Focus,” you urged. Your voice cracked slightly. You wanted to run to him. To take his face in your hands and kiss him and tell him he’d be okay. But you couldn’t. He had to do this on his own. “Push him back and tell me your name.” He shook his head and you rose to your feet, taking a few steps closer. “Tell me your name.”

“B-barnes. James Buchanan…James…” he took a deep breath. “Fuck.”

“You’re almost there. Tell me who you are.”

Bucky had fallen off the side of his bed, and sat before you on his knees. His fingers tangled themselves in his hair as he tried to make him go away. The Winter Soldier.

“My…name is…B-bucky.”

You knelt down to eye level and tilted his chin up. His eyes were still wild as they tried to calm themselves from the trauma. Beads of sweat dripped off his brow, matting his hair to his face.

“Look at that,” you breathed in barely a whisper. “You’re almost halfway there.”

He buried his face in the crook of your neck. “I shouldn’t have done four.”

“No. Probably not,” you replied. Your face had turned bright red. Bucky surely didn’t know what he was doing. His mind was halfway jumbled still. You shouldn’t think so much into his actions. But…it felt so nice. You could feel his breath, hot and shallow against your collarbone, and it was accompanied by the gentle feeling of his chapped lips. “You’re getting your new arm tomorrow. We can take a break for a few days while you get used to it.”

***

Tony was clearly on edge as he paced around, fumbling with various tools to prep his lab. You didn’t blame him. If you were in his shoes, you’d be somewhat of a mess, too.

“Isn’t it ironic,” he began suddenly, breaking the silence. “I’m saving the man who ruined my life.” He paused for a beat. “Not that I live some horrible existence. But he is the root cause of my daddy issues. Makes me very difficult to deal with, you know. Just ask Pepper.” Bitter sarcasm dripped over his voice.

“Well how does that make you fe—“

“I’m going to stop you right there. You’re Barnes’s therapist, not mine.” He looked at you carefully, as his features softened. “Sorry. I’m not trying to take this out on you.”

“Bucky has tried to kill me twice. You don’t scare me,” you shrugged.

Tony tensed up. The comment was meant to be lighthearted, but there was truth behind it. Those first two weeks that Bucky had moved into the compound were rough. Nobody quite understood the extent that the words resonated within him. You’d almost become another one of his mistakes.

“You know what’s awful? No matter what I do, I’m the bad guy. Even when I try to fix whatever _catastrophic_ mistake I’ve made, I’m the bad guy, because nobody pays attention to what you do to fix things. They only pay attention to the fuck ups. And that’s understandable. People have died from my mistakes. The world won’t forget that, and I don’t blame them. I’ll think about it every day for the rest of my life. But why is it that right now I’m the bad guy? All of you see Barnes as this poor, unfortunate soul whose brain was in a blender for the better part of 75 years. I see him as the man who killed my mom, and took away my chance to shove a history book in front of my father’s face and say ‘Look dad. You got a paragraph while I have a whole fucking chapter.’ ”

Tony stared at the wall ahead of him. A blank canvas for whatever images he was conjuring up.

“Or maybe I’m just being _difficult_ again.”

“No. You aren’t. It’s hard to just forgive something like that…I have so much respect for you, Tony. Just because you aren’t having movie nights with the guy doesn’t mean you aren’t trying. You’ve given him a bed. You’ve given him the resources to get control of himself. You’ve built him a new arm! You’re trying. You’re the good guy.”

“You’re the last person I thought I’d hear that from,” he mused softly. “Call me sentimental, but I just want the Avengers to be what they were.”

“I know you do. And I think people are more grateful than you realize…but what did you mean I was the last person you thought you’d hear that from?” 

“I review all your sessions. It’s pretty clear that he’s more than a patient to you.”

***

The operation went smoothly, and sure enough, Bucky was showing off his new arm—or rather, Tony was. There was no denying that he was proud of his work. The design was sleek and modern; the typical look of a Stark-made machine. He’d found a way to make it lighter so it felt like an actual arm, rather than some robotic contraption latched onto his shoulder. But perhaps most importantly, the red star was gone. In its place was nothing but the blank shine of metal. A new beginning.

“So there is one feature that I wanted everyone to see,” Tony said after a good ten or fifteen minutes of technical rambling. The others looked at him curiously. He smiled, held up a remote, and pushed a button.

Bucky’s arm fell off. Sam had never laughed so hard in his entire life.

“What the hell!?” Bucky croaked in horror as he scrambled to pick up the discarded limb.

“A final precaution,” Tony replied with an innocent smile. “No more locks on the doors. No more close calls during therapy. Think of it as a trial run for becoming a normal human being again. If something happens, then poof. We have a fall back for safety…or rather your shrink over here does,” he motioned to you. “Once it's decided you’re fit, I’ll give you the real thing.”

“This isn’t the real thing?” He furrowed his brow.

“Of course not. It’s just a prototype. I don’t build things that fall apart so easily.”

***

Things continued as they were. You’d managed to get Bucky up to seven words within the course of a few months without any incidents that called for the remote. It would still be a long road until he was completely recovered—if he ever even got there—but his progress was promising.

He could recite each trigger word that you’d worked on so far in its original tongue. He’d become more social and unsurprisingly grew an especially tight bond with Natasha; who shared a similar background. Things were still tense when he and Tony were within twenty feet of one another, but it was clear that he was beginning to tolerate Bucky. Steve, of course, was always hovering around, and often playfully bantering back and forth with the friend he’d missed so much. That part was especially pleasing. It was nice to hear him the way he was meant to be heard—as a suave man from 1940s Brooklyn.

“Alright, kid, I’m trusting you with my life, here,” he said one day as he perched on a stool. You stood before him with a pair of scissors in your hand, trying your best to focus on the task at hand. It was difficult, though. Bucky had taken to dressing like Steve, and wearing shirts that looked three sizes too small. Today’s was especially bad. It was white and thin, and the lighting was hitting him in a way that made it completely see through. For all intents and purposes, it was the first time you’d ever seen him shirtless, and god damn was it nice.

“I think you should just go to a professional.”

“There’s no sense in going somewhere when all I need is a trim.”

“You just got done saying you wanted it how it used to be. That means lopping it all off.”

“No. I said I want something in the middle of then and now. You know. Modern but classic and manageable,” he replied astutely. 

“I’m going to screw it up. I’ve never even thought about cutting someone else’s hair.”

“Well the nice thing about hair is that it grows back. Think of it as a bonding experience,” he winked.

That simple motion melted your heart and took control of your hands. You couldn’t say no to that, and so you started carefully snipping away. You began at the back. It was better that way because he wouldn’t be able to see what you were doing, while giving you time to build up the courage to work your way to the front.

You brushed his hair straight and bit back a smile as it covered his eyes. It really had grown into a disheveled mess.

“Hold very still,” you muttered as you worked your scissors over the problem area until you could see his face once again. His eyes were fixing themselves on yours in a way that very stubbornly held your gaze, no matter how hard you tried to focus on the task at hand.

A few more painfully awkward moments of blood rushing to your cheeks, and you were all finished. Surprisingly, it didn’t look half bad.

“What do you think?” You asked and handed him a mirror. He ran his fingers through it very carefully and pursed his lips together.

“It’s a little uneven here,” he motioned to an area near his temple.

You frowned. You couldn’t see anything wrong with it. In fact, you thought it looked quite nice. You squinted and moved closer to try to figure out what he was talking about. He took the opportunity to lean forward and peck you on the lips.

Instinctively, you took a step backwards and pressed your fingers to the spot he kissed.

“No good?” Bucky asked nonchalantly as he set the mirror down and stood up.

“N-no! It was…it was…it was unexpected.”

“Mm,” he replied thoughtfully. “That won’t do.”

He leaned forward and kissed you again. This time deeply as he held your face gently in his hands. The sensation was strange, or at least the metal against your cheek was. You always thought that it’d be cold to the touch, but you felt quite the opposite. His fingertips were actually a few degrees warmer than the rest of him as the intricate system of wires and gears within created the friction that allowed him to move.

“Better?” he whispered before resuming the kiss. You nodded. “Good,” he smiled and moved closer, pressing his body up against yours, and for a second, you could have sworn you heard his heart beat in sync with yours. It was short lived, though; as a sudden clank dragged you both back to Earth.

Bucky’s arm lay motionless on the ground beside him, and after taking a second to process what’d happened, he kicked it in frustration. You were confused briefly, as well, and then you remembered the remote that was tucked away in your front pocket. He must have set it off when he drew you against him.

As you apologized profusely for the mishap, you realized just how much the metal must have echoed through the compound. It was faint, but the sound of Sam and Steve’s maniacal laughter from the other room managed to drown you out completely.

***

Almost a year later, Natasha was standing behind you as you read off each word. It was partly for moral support, and partly for her own curiosity. The farther you got down the list, the more your heart broke. He was able to resist, for the most part, but it was costly. The war in his mind was physically apparent. It soaked him in sweat as he writhed around, trying his best to fight him off. And there were a few times he almost didn’t. You could see the steely flicker in his eye and disposition. Stiff. Cold. Calculating. And it was clear that if Bucky lost, then The Winter Soldier would be coming for you first.

You almost stopped a few times, but Natasha urged you to keep going.

_I was raised watching things like this. I’ve seen his file. I know what I’m doing. He's ready. Don’t stop._

She was right, of course. You knew you couldn’t stop, and perhaps a year ago you wouldn’t have wanted to. You almost missed those days, back when Barnes was nothing more than a patient. In this moment, memories of being able to leave after his sessions without a second thought seemed almost blissful. But you were here now and you were in love. There was no going back to the times when you were actually a god damned professional. You had to press forward.

“возвращение на родину.” _homecoming._ Bucky cried out, not from pain, but fear. You could feel tears begin to build up in the corners of your eyes. Two more to go.

“Один.” _One._ He was struggling so hard. He did everything he could not to look at you.

You took a breath. Last one.

“грузовой вагон.” _Freight car._

With a final cry, everything stopped. Bucky’s limp form turned stiff and he raised his head just enough to make eye contact with you. His voice was an octave deeper, and throaty. It was nearly unrecognizable and that rattled every bone in your body. You’d thought you’d done it. Ten words. He’d made it past ten words.

But in reality, he lost himself at nine.

_“Ready to comply.”_

***

It took a few days for Bucky to come back to himself, and it took a few more for him to gather up the courage to speak to you. He’d looked so sad, sitting on the edge of his bed, with one hand resting on his thigh and the other…somewhere in Tony’s workshop to be stored away until further notice.

He remained stoic as you sat down next to him, careful to choose the side that was still flesh. Neither of you spoke, but it was at least a comfortable silence. He’d spent most of his life that way. In silence. It was familiar and calming. Especially now with the added clarity he felt when you were near him.

After a while, Bucky laced his fingers with yours.

“I can’t trust my own mind,” he smiled a bit, but it was forced and broken; something he really only attempted for your sake.

“We’ll get there,” you replied. “We’ve only been doing this for a year. You’ve been doing _that_ for 75.”

“I might not ever get better, you know.”

“I know.”

You rested your head on his shoulder. He shifted a bit, forgetting momentarily that he was back down to one arm. The metal plates adjusted slightly as he attempted to reach out, presumably to play with your hair. He was always playing with your hair. 

“Shit,” he breathed and relaxed back to his former position, obviously somewhat embarrassed.

You pulled your hand away from his and pressed your lips to his cheek. Bucky smiled at the motion—for real, this time—and he turned his head, letting your lips glide over his skin until they were pressed against his.

“You know,” he began in a soft whisper. “The only good thing that’s been stuck in my head is you.”

“Oh my god.”

“That was smooth and you know it.”

“I’m just glad to see that you’re bouncing back,” you mumbled against his mouth. “We’ll get there, Bucky. It’ll take time. But we’ll fix this. I truly believe that.”

“I believe you.”

“Good,” you took his face in your hands and looked at him closely. “You also need a haircut soon.”

“Yes. Yes I do,” he replied and smiled.

And in that moment, he felt human again.


End file.
